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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844535">All Talk and No Bite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamingbenn/pseuds/jamingbenn'>jamingbenn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Roommates, dream actually has a life, george is a spoilt brat xoxo, george is unhappy about that, i guess i should tag this as, no beta we die as if technoblade had just spawned a wither near us, ok listen i'm terrible at tagging, sapnap notices now because they moved in together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamingbenn/pseuds/jamingbenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream has a girl over sometimes. It’s not a big deal, until it is.</p><p>or, Sapnap and Dream have moved in together. George is not upset by this, not at all, and totally not for any other reason beyond the obvious.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(briefly!) - Relationship, Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Female Character(s), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>537</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Talk.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>See end notes for content warnings. (Non-spoilery!)<br/>This happened in a single day because I finally watched the vod where Sapnap talks about moving in with Dream. My lil nuggin of a brain went NUTS. Have at it! Enjoy!</p><p>Weekly Tuesday release.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Dream has girls over sometimes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s not that big of a deal, and really not that awkward— for all that the fans think moving in together means they’re living in each other’s pockets, the truth is that it’s a pretty big house.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And they each have a floor for themselves, so unless they’re talking business, or hanging out, they mostly keep to themselves.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sure, sometimes he’ll head down for breakfast and bump into a yawning, messy haired girl stumbling over eggs before she leaves, and I mean, he would appreciate a little bit more warning, but it’s really no big deal. They all get regularly tested, and Dream takes COVID seriously enough that Nick’s pretty sure whatever Tinder girl he calls over for a night’s probably been recently tested as well. It’s not like he can hear them getting it on when he’s on an entirely different floor.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So Nick sees it as an absolute non-issue, so much so, he doesn’t ever really think to bring it up as something to talk about, which is why he never saw any of this catastrophic mess coming. But, well. George and Clay have always had something weird going on.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It starts out just like any other early morning. He has George’s sleepy voice in his ear, the British man disgruntlement over something or the other clearly evident even through the poor quality of their Discord call, when he catches Clay and some chick in the common area of their kitchen.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">She’s a new one, only been over a couple times— Clay doesn’t really do serious or long term relationships, as far as Sapnap can tell, mostly having a friend or someone from Tinder over a couple of times, and they're gone before they can figure out who Clay is. He values his privacy a lot, rightfully, and he says it's not worth it to risk it on some girl when he’s not even that interested in romantic relationships at the moment.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sapnap can respect that. He doesn’t have as much of a hang-up regarding, like, his face and his identity being tied to his internet fame, but Dream’s a little different. Either way, this chick is new— pretty, in the cute kind of way, wearing one of Dream’s hoodies (not his own merch, thank god), and rubbing her eyes as she fights their stupidly fancy toaster.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream pauses to touch her briefly on the waist as he reaches for the bread, and that’s when he sees Nick.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey, Nick. This is Mel. Mel, this is my roommate Nick.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mel stifles a yawn. “Hey, Nick. Sorry about the—“ She pauses to waves at her general early morning unkemptness. “Just fixing up a quick breakfast for Clay and I. Want any eggs?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George goes very, very silent in his ear. His whining cutting out so abruptly that Nick forgets he even has his AirPods on, that George's still in the call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Nick hums. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen this kid looking way worse,” he laughs, ruffling up Dream’s hair.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I haven’t,” goes George’s voice, small and tinny through his headphones. So soft, no one could blame Sapnap for not hearing it over the general merriness in the kitchen. Not his voice, nor the gentle, quiet Discord chime signaling that he’d already left the call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sapnap only realizes something’s wrong when George doesn’t call back that night.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He frowns, confused, at his phone— they have an unofficial meeting later about the podcast, but it’s not like George to not text them sporadically throughout the day. Come to think of it, the last time he’s heard from the man was this morning. When did they even end the call again?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mel and Clay had tag-teamed breakfast for all three of them, and Mel's an easy, chill person to get along with, so it was forgivable that Nick forgot, the days of quarantine all blurring together anyways.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick spins his phone anyways, jittery. Pulls up discord and sends George a quick, “u up?” text.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“yeah”, comes the response. Nick exhales. Okay, so he's not completely stonewalling them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It says he was still typing, so Sapnap waits, drumming his fingers against his knee. But then it stops, and starts again, before the little green circle disappears. He’s gone offline.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Weird, Sapnap thinks. But George has his bouts of moodiness. (None greater than when Dream and Sapnap had moved in together, George upset and feeling left out, even though he <em>wasn’t</em>, they were on call almost all the time together <em>anyways</em>, stop being so goddamn dramatic, Georgerson.) Still. Nick’s learnt that the best way to handle it is just to let him be. He always recovers soon enough anyways.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“SAPNAP!” Dream hollers from downstairs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“YEAH?” Nick screams back. Yeah, they could probably just text, and sometimes they do, when they’re feeling lazy, but Nick has a theory that Clay lowkey just likes an excuse to scream sometimes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“DINNER?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“YEAH!” Sapnap shouts back, and soon enough, the tell-tale thudding on the stairs announced the arrival of a windswept, happy Dream by his door.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“WHY IS THIS ALWAYS LOCKED!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh my god, Christ, you can stop shouting now, you’re right outside,” Sapnap mutters, going over to unlock the door for him. “I’m private, okay,” he teases, echoing Dream’s words back at him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What have you got to hide from me, anyways,” Clay grumbles. “Unless you’re fucking jerking off or something.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Jeez, no, and also, some of us can’t pull a different girl every night like you, okay,” Nick rolls his eyes. “Mr. Tall, Blonde and Handsome.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream swats him in the face. “UberEats?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey!” Nick protests, catching Dream’s hands easily. “Watch it! And also yeah. Mexican?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You always want Mexican,” Dream grumbles, flopping down on Nick’s bed. “And also stop putting yourself down, jeez, look at those guns you just attacked me with.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sapnap pinches at his biceps, trying not to wince. “Yeah, under a layer of fat, maybe.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream swats him again. “Shut the fuck up. We’re clearly getting Mexican then, if nothing else but to cheer your sorry ass up.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They pour over the offerings of UberEats and DoorDash for a while, and one spirited debate on the merits of Taco Bell VS TexMex VS actual Mexican later, their order’s on the way.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey,” Clay starts, settled into the nook he’s made for himself on Nick’s bed. “Should we do that thing with George now?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Mm,” Nick hums. “He’s been kinda busy I think, hasn’t really texted me. You could try,” he suggests.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay scoffs. “Busy with what?” He says, pulling his phone out. “Britain’s in like, super tight lockdown.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick shrugs as the jingle of FaceTime’s dial tone starts up from Clay’s phone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Plans for tonight?” Nick asks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing much,” Dream hums. “You?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Got some more homework I gotta finish. What I meant to ask was, anyone coming over tonight that I should be prepared about?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream flushes. “Uh, sorry about this morning, but Mel’s chill, so. Also, no, we aren’t like, a steady or regular thing, so, you know.” He coughs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick laughs. “Yeah, I caught onto that man, neither have the rest of them, so.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Shut up!” Clay protests. “There hasn’t been that many of them.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“More than me, more than I care to know about,” Nick replies, sing-song. “First there was that crazy tall chick-- what was she, Russian? And then there was that cute brunette, although this one's brunette too-- you got a thing for dark hair, bro? Oh! What about that girl who was ripped, man, those abs--"</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Dream throws another pillow at his face. "Oh my god, shut up. So I'm not a saint, sue me.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">"Nah, good for you, bro." Nick chuckles ruefully. "Get some.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream rolls his eyes, before frowning at his phone. “Why isn’t George picking up?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Busy, probably,” Nick says, a growing sense of unease rising up in him. “Let me try.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He pulls out his own phone to call George, and it only rings once, twice before he answers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?!” George opens with, hair messy and clearly in bed. “I’m busy.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Uh, busy with what, sleeping?” Nick asks. “You have a minute? We were supposed to talk about the podcast.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Lemme see him,” Dream says, jumping out of Nick’s bed to grab at Nick’s phone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George’s eyes widen. “Clay’s there?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Uh, duh?” Sapnap replies, confused.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George’s eyes close, and something in Sapnap sinks. He's starting to have a really, really bad feeling about this all. “I gotta go. My mom’s calling,” he lies, terribly, with no finesse at all, but it works anyways, because George thumbs the call dead right after that very sentence.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick looks up from his phone and right into Clay’s equally confused eyes. “What the fuck was that?” He asks, only for Clay to look back blankly at him, a mirror of absolute confusion. Clay struggles for a minute, mouth opening as if to say something, before deciding against it, his face twisting into a tense picture of unhappiness.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">All Clay manages is an unhelpful, pinched shrug, and Nick really, really doesn't like any of this at all.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Words said in silence.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>have at it!!! a whole four days early!!! because I am a kind and generous person. go on, let me know more about that in the comments. (jk but also no actually please do)</p><p>though, please do still expect updates every tuesday. writers in this fandom are really really quick and update frequently, but i am an Old who has a full time internship and two part time jobs and school. i'm lucky if i get 4 uninterrupted hours in a week to write, so, i seek your understanding and forgiveness if i'm ever late or don't deliver. this is my hobby and i love doing it but it is free labour, and i have a bunch of other responsibilities and people who count on me.</p><p>(also if you were the op of the post recommending this fic on tumblr, thank you so much!! tumblr notifications swallowed it right after i saw it, but really, you are so kind!)</p><p>despite that, please do enjoy! enough rambling! time for gay pining! a little bit of a slow chapter but i got carried away with sap x dream interactions, okay!! shhhh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">George starts and deletes the message a thousand times. “So who’s Mel,” he almost sends to Sapnap, but it feels so utterly… transparent. Accusatory, almost.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He curses, wishing not for the first time that he kept his cool a little better. Maybe if he wasn’t so obviously upset, he could have just played it off and found out a little more about the situation. As it is though, the lack of knowing is driving him absolutely crazy.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Mel could be anyone. Mel could be a cousin. Mel could be a housecleaner. But the gentle way she laughed, little high tinkling sounds, distinctly feminine, grates George the wrong way.</p><p class="p1"><br/>
It was the easy way Clay said it, too. Hey, Nick, this is Mel. As if “Mel” was someone he’d known forever, someone he was comfortable with, like it was not a big deal at all, like this completely new name to George was actually only new to him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He was trying to be better about these things, really, about the fact that there’s things about Clay’s life Sapnap knows now, things that George is absolutely fucking clueless about. It bloody sucks that he’s stuck playing an endless game of catch-up, trying desperately to pick out what he’s missing in between the lines of casual conversation that he does get to have, frequent but still over the phone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The thing is. The thing is that George feels— felt?— like he knows them, both of them, inside and out, except clearly not, not now, now that there’s these huge gaping holes about things he knows absolutely nothing about. Things that don’t matter at all and are, really, so inconsequential but it doesn’t matter because— because not knowing how Clay does the dishes feels more hurtful than a punch straight in the gut.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So it bugs George, of course it does, way more than it has any right to, tossing and turning in bed frustrated that he doesn’t know if Dream loosens the shoelaces on his sneakers before he kicks them off. If he leaves the dishes in the sink. If he puts the ketchup in the fridge or the pantry.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">If he smiles everytime George calls.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then Clay texts.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Listen— George knows that he’s kind of being an asshole, alright, that they have a '<em>brand</em>' and people depending on them to get along and create content and all that jazz. But he’s also human, and he thinks he deserves a day or two off from Clay. Thinks it's fair if he's still reeling a bit with surprising soreness.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay usually calls, is the thing, but there’s only so many times you can reject a FaceTime request or a Discord call before it starts getting a little obvious. Clay probably wouldn’t even notice it anyways, George thought meanly as he lets the phone ring, and ring, and ring. He’ll probably just go talk to Nick instead, you know, since they’re in the same fucking house and everything.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s not bitter. No, not at all.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then Clay texts, which, yes, is a surprise, because while Clay is a pretty good texter, the two of them really usually just call instead. George bites down on his lip, feeling just a little guilty.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“hey,” it says. “you there?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No, George thinks spitefully. Go talk to Sap. He’s right there and I’m an ocean away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“… are you mad at me?” Comes the next Discord notification.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“at least call me to scream what I did wrong, this time,” Clay texts a minute later. George closes his eyes, tired.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His phone buzzes again. “I’ll even apologize, just for you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George screams into his pillow and throws his phone off his bed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When Sapnap heads down to the kitchen way later that evening, thirsty right before bed, he catches Clay drumming his fingers nervously on the kitchen island.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sleeping soon?” Clay asks, his gaze never leaving his phone once.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Nick answers, heading over to their Brita filter. “What’s up?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing,” came the response, too quick. Clay looks up from his phone guiltily. “It's official. George’s ignoring me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“He’s probably just busy,” Nick rolls his eyes. These two are always so dramatic about each other.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No, like, he’s online on Discord right now and ignoring my messages and calls,” Clay repeats.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Huh.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Here, I’ll show you.” Clay hits call with practiced hands. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and then the call is declined.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay bites down on his lips. “Did I do anything?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Not that I know of,” Nick replies, although a terrible thought is forming in his head. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You both get moody all the time. He’ll get over whatever this is.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Right,” Clay says, unconvincingly. “Alright then.” He puts his phone back into his pocket, and straightens. “He’ll have to call about the podcast eventually, right?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Right,” Nick nods. Right.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“wtf g this isn’t cool,” Sapnap texts him, later. “You got Clay all stressed out and shit. If u’re busy just let him know,” he says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“ok,” George sends back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The phone rings. George sighs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Well, there’s only so much one can do.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He picks up Nick’s call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hello,” he says, in his best-least-guilty-voice manageable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>Hello</em>,” Sapnap mocks, imitating his English accent as always. “The fuck is up with you, fucker?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing!” George squeaks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh, so you’re just ignoring Clay’s calls and picking mine up five minutes later because nothing?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I didn’t hear it!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Bullshit,” Nick calls, lightning quick. “What the fuck is this about?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m going through some shit, okay, leave me alone, jeez, you’re so obsessed with me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Someone has to be,” Sapnap bites back, dry, as if there aren’t hordes and hordes of teenaged girls who’d love to lick George’s hurting wounds. (And then probably something else too.)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“But seriously,” Nick continues, voice softer now. “You’re alright, yeah?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George laughs, so, so humorless and dry. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he says. “I’m peachy fine.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Tell Clay to chill out,” George adds after that, still on the phone, and Nick breathes out noisily in response. “I’ll call him back when things get less crazy.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Okay,” Nick says. He doesn’t believe a word George says. “I’ll tell him to back off.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And so, because Nick is an excellent friend, he actually does.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“George wants you to back off,” he says, the very next morning, where Dream promptly chokes on his cereal.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Back off from what?!” He demands, voice high, breathy the way it gets sometimes, especially when he’s caught off-guard. “I’ve been leaving him alone! … Mostly, anyways,” he tacks on, sheepish.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t know man, you both always have so much shit going on with each other.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay groans. “Not fucking you too,” he says, spoon clattering against his bowl.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I said, not you too,” Clay stands, annoyed. “My mom called this morning.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“… Okay?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“She asked about George and I's— fucking as if there's anything going—" Clay cuts himself off, clamping his mouth shut, looking kind of guilty. "Nevermind— whatever, it’s not important.” He coughs. Nick raises an eyebrow. Dream hurries to add, “Do you think George might be mad still about us moving in together?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s been weeks,” Nick reasons, twisting his fingers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Maybe,” he allows. “He’s is so fucking spoilt, it’s probably the first time he’s got something he can’t have.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay rolls his eyes. “As if you don’t indulge him.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Less than you!” Nick’s kind of relieved when they dissolve back into familiar bickering. The idea that his actions made George, uh, upset in a more than passing way was uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to spend too much energy thinking about it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ignorance is bliss. (Until it stops being so.)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream’s unloading the dishwasher.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You’re unloading the dishwasher,” Nick blinks from where he’s standing on their stairway.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We don’t have a housekeeper,” Dream bites back, defensive. “Some of us were raised right.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I didn’t say anything about it being out of character,” Sapnap puts both hands up. “Except for how I totally was going to.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream throws one of the dishtowels he was using at Sap’s general direction. “Shut up. I was bored.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Already?!” Nick refutes, walking over to him. “Didn’t you just have that recording with Tommy like an hour ago?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but with George still being a piece of shit, I can’t work on any of the other things I want to.” Dream rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “He better come around soon. Hey, have you heard from him recently?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, he called me yesterday.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream straightens up so quickly he knocks his head lightly against his countertop. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me about it?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I did!” Sapnap protests. “I told you he told you to back off!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I thought you meant like, he texted you or something! I could have joined you on call!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick bites his lip. “I don’t think he would have appreciated that, to be frank.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay freezes. “Why the fuck wouldn’t he have!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Idk, he told you to back off in the same damn call?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Back off from what!” Clay despairs. “I haven’t been as asshole to him in at least a week!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, cause that’s such an achievement,” Nick quips right back, and then immediately feels just a little bit guilty about it. It’s not just Clay’s fault that there’s always been… Something going on between the two of them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He think he has plenty reason to be kinda tired of all that song and dance, though, at least now. He’s human too, and he gets sick of trying to mediate all the weirdness that can crop up between them two.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s got to let them sort out their own problems sometime.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Much to Nick's great relief, George decides, very kindly and magnanimously, to take one for the team the very next day. By removing the giant rod up his ass all by himself for once.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay’s been clingier since George’s withdrawn, calling Nick down for Playstation nights and lounging in his room, just to shoot the shit. So they’re lazily slouched on the couch, half watching that new Marvel show in the common area when George calls.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream, the fool, nearly chokes on the beer he’s drinking in his haste to pick up the phone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I heard you missed me,” is what George opens with.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sapnap resists the urge to go and bang his head against the wall.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay sputters, floundering, and Sapnap has truly had enough. He stands, taking their empty Bud cans before walking out, choosing to leave Clay alone to defend his honor.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">By the time he’s back, 15 minutes and one trash run later, the call has ended, leaving Clay with a small, pleased smile lingering on his lips. So Sapnap decides, nicely, to leave it at that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“So I see we have the podcast call with George later this afternoon,” Sapnap says neutrally.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay flushes. “Uh, yeah, bro.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You two good again huh?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” Dream says, very deliberately omitting any further detail.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Okay,” Sapnap says. “Good as new?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Good as new.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sapnap will stay out of that for long as he plausibly can. He’s walked in on the two of them softly muttering to each on Discord calls to know that there’s no point pushing it until they want to.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He'll let the two of them dance around the huge 'DreamNotFound' elephant for as long as they want to. He's not getting caught up in that mess.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">(How optimistic he is.)</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">George calls, again, just as Clay’s tucked himself into bed. The sharp edge of relief he feels about that is staggering— I mean, sure, George called earlier when Clay was watching TV with Nick, and they did their usual ‘apologize with sarcastic banter and joking insults that you have to read in between the lines for’, but.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This George is the George he missed the most. The George that feels the most real, the George that feels just for Clay.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You wanna tell me what you were so busy with last week?” Clay murmurs, voice gravelly over the distortion of the call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No,” George mumbles into his pillow. “’s embarrassing. And you’ll tell Nick, and I don’t need him having that kind of ammunition.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay rubs at one of his eyes. “I won’t tell him if you don’t want him to know.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’d have believed you more last month,” George scoffs. “But you live together now.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Is that what this is about?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No,” George tries.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Stop lying to me!” Dream hisses, voice raising.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m not fucking lying!” George shouts, absolutely lying.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh, yeah? So what was it about then?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s fucking private, okay?! I was busy!” George grits out through his teeth.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What, you got a girl or something?!” Clay goads, an uncomfortable, pissy feeling settling in his chest. If George wants to pull this shit Clay’s gonna push right back, he thinks, meanly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ew, no way,” George’s response is instinctual, the words rushing out of him way too quick. And then he coughs. “Uh, I mean, girls are cool. Great! Boobs, amirite?! Haha,” he backtracks urgently. And then another cough. Dream squints. “But no," he continues. "I’m in lockdown.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey,” Clay says, soft again, cutting through all the bullshit. “You know I won’t tell, right?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to talk about it.” George says, strained.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Okay, I won’t push.” A pause. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t care.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I know you don’t care,” George says, dancing carefully around the words they’re both avoiding. <em>I’m gay</em>, he tries to himself, mouthing the words out loud, as if sound is what’ll make it real.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>I like men</em>, he tries again, feeling the shape of the unsaid syllables roll on his tongue.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Over the phone, Dream coughs.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><em>I like you</em>, George soundlessly tries again, as the hush stretches on between them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>It’s only ever been you</em>, he thinks, stubbornly silent, still.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please do remember to kudos n comment if u liked it ~~ i read and appreciate every single one even if i don't reply. i cherish your words and sleep with them under my pillow at night. (okay, that's just my entire phone, but you know, your kind comments are in there. somewhere.)</p><p>please join me on discord and on tumblr! links below.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Means more than you think.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tis a shorter one. tis been a hell of a week and i was so happy to dive back into this story because it is 1. the one thing in life i know how to do 2. the one thing in life that is actually going somewhat to plan. which is to say, please say nice things in the comment because i've been going thru it. i think this is technically 12 hours late so UUHHHHHHHH</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Dream calls George about Nick first, because for all he likes to front, he’s actually the sentimental one.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“WHAT!” George shouts into his phone, the words mangled around the toothbrush in his mouth.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No grace in the morning at all, princess,” Dream laughs. “Just got up?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George spits out his toothpaste. “Good fucking morning to you too, asshole. What’s up.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing much,” Dream hums, “except, like, what are you gonna do for Nick’s birthday?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What are <em>we</em> going to do, you mean. Don’t think I don’t know how you’re gonna sneak your way into whatever I’m doing. Which, by the way, as of now is a big fat nothing.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream groans. “It’s in a month.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m aware,” George rolls his eyes, unamused. “You’re just gonna throw money at the problem as always, anyways, so why are you even asking.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t know,” Dream hesitates. “Seems kinda weird to just get him a MacBook or something when it’ll be like, delivered to the house, and he’ll probably see the delivery coming anyways.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Right. George forgot about that. But he promised himself he wasn’t gonna be a little baby about it, so he sucks it up. “It’ll be fine. We can hire someone to make a video for him or something. We’ll figure it out.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">Dream makes an unhappy little noise at that, ever the perfectionist.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George blows out a long breath, scrubbing a hand through greasy hair. “Whatever, hey, I gotta go. I really did just wake up and I gotta shower.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Mm,” Clay answers. “Call me back when you’re done.’</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Will do,” George says, before clicking off the phone resolutely. Fuck. He has to stop letting this shit affect him. It’s neither Clay nor Nick’s fault he’s not living with them right now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The jealous ache in his chest just won’t get the memo, though. Nor will the niggling ache in the back of his head stop faintly suggesting sentiments of vague abandonment. Maybe he’s just stressed out? Maybe he just needs to… well. George supposes there’s some benefits to not living with his friends just yet, and not having to worry about the hot water running out in the middle of a long, leisurely, and, uh, <em>relaxing</em> shower is one of them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Silver linings. George hums, a little more placated, and goes about gathering his supplies.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">One forty minute marathon shower later, George emerges from the shower steamed pink, freshly scrubbed, and pleasantly satisfied.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Of course, all of that goodwill instantly disappears when he picks up his phone to find 16 missed calls from Clay, Jesus, can that man like, chill for just one second. He hits the call back button, yelping when it instantly goes to facetime, and hurriedly hangs up so he can call him the normal, audio-only way.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What took you so fucking long, Jesus,” is what Dream opens with, which is always promising.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Some of us know how to enjoy the small luxuries in life,” George shoots back haughtily.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Oh, knock it off, we all know you take 15 minute showers max,” Dream sneers, picking at the cotton of his sweats. “What do you even do in there for an <em>entire </em>hour, Christ, were you jerking off or something?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A pause. Dream raises his eyebrows. “Oh my god you <em>were</em>—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“NO!” George shouts back, unconvincingly. “What the hell of course not! Ha—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You <em>were</em>,” Dream cackles, triumphant, “Oh my god, who even gets off in the shower, you fucking <em>weirdo</em>, I can’t believe you—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t get off in the shower!” George’s still shouting, fruitlessly defensive, caught way off guard. “And how do you get off then, huh?” He sneers, switching tracks to go on offense. “A tub of vaseline you hide from Nick?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And Dream really needs to learn when to start letting things go, but he hasn’t done that yet and he’s not gonna start now, not for this, so he goads back, just as loud. “At least I don't get off in the <em>shower</em>, Jesus, don’t you know that water makes the friction worse? It fucking hurts, bro,” he continues.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How rough do you— I wasn’t getting off in the shower!” George tries agin, voice high.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah?!” Dream mocks. “So where <em>do</em> you get off then?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George flushes, and Dream really can’t take this anymore, so he switches the voice call to a visual one with a flip of the button. George turns on his camera too after a second, face flushed with embarrassment and hair still tantalizingly wet. Okay, so maybe Clay should have thought that through a little more.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“So what if it is in the shower, you dickhead,” George hisses back, tugging a shirt on in a corner of the frame. Dream laughs, his face crinkling up with joy, but there’s something flipping about in his heart that he really needs to shut down right about now.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I <em>knew</em> it,” he teases, running a hand through his floppy, light strands.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Who the fuck are you to comment anyways,” George mutters, pissy. “You’re not the one still living with your parents, okay, some of us have to keep it down.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dream stills. “Do you.. what. <em>Noise</em>?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George’s squinty face comes back in frame. “Uh, duh?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How <em>loud</em> do you get, Jesus,” Clay bites back, and all of a sudden, this really isn’t as funny as it was a second ago. He forces a breath back down into his lungs from where it was suspiciously caught in his throat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The normal amount?!” George squeaks, red face disappearing back off screen.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s not fucking normal,” Clay presses.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What, do you fucking stay silent as you jerk it?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, I’m not a fucking <em>porn star</em>, Jesus,” Clay hisses.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“NEITHER AM I!” George shrieks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Coulda fooled me,” Clay mutters, suddenly quiet.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing,” he backpedals, quick. “I’m just saying, even if I’m not silent, I don’t fucking need the sound of a <em>shower</em> to drown myself out, Jesus,” Clay manages, rubbing a hand over his eyebrows. “Christ.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">George’s hand comes back into frame as he grabs his phone to finally appear properly in frame. “Don’t hate me cause you ain’t me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Trust me, no one wants to be you,” Dream manages to tease back, ignoring the unsettling heat that’s started up in his chest. “So. About Nick’s birthday…”</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When Dream heads back down to the kitchen, Sapnap’s already there, merrily humming away as he heats up some leftovers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Smells good,” Dream says, picking up a tea towel to snap on Nick’s ass.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“HEY!” Nick jumps. “Save that shit for George, Christ,” he tacks on.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Clay rolls his eyes. “Can you imagine,” he says. “He’d get so red.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, like you won't like that,” Sapnap mutters with a grin. “This is why I refuse to live with the both of you at once.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well, that’s too bad, then, ‘cause you’re fucking stuck with us till the end of time,” Dream smiles, stealing a quick bite out of Nick’s pan. “Sorry, buddy. You’re shit out of luck this time.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nick fake groans, hanging his head in mock despair. “However will I survive,” he feints, touching the back of his hand to his forehead. “However will I survive.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pls rmbr to kudos and comment if u liked it &lt;3 next one will b longer! sorry 4 being a lil late!</p><p>also, follow me on tumblr @ jamingbenn for screamings and updates and shit. tyy</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some non-spoilery content warnings:</p><p>1. I used their screen and real names interchangeably in this work, because Nick himself said that’s what they actually do irl, so.<br/>2. I don’t baby the boys in this one. They’re young 20 year olds. And given that I’m 21 myself, I’ll flatter myself and say that I think I know what boys this age are like. They have lives. They fuck. Granted, I don’t depict any of that explicitly in this work because I am terrible at writing porn for RPF, but it is made pretty plain that the boys get it on. If this makes you uncomfortable, this work might not be for you. Sorry :c</p><p>Follow me on Tumblr, where I am jamingbenn. Join my discord here: https://discord.gg/gMzA6uxgY4.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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